Blühende Sonnen
by AmaliaRonan
Summary: "It may seem like an odd way to begin a story-somewhere in the middle, with a field cracked open like a shell, and a letter to a singular person that is nothing significant in particular-but Gilbert figured that it was as good a place as any." WWII AU
1. Blume (A Prologue)

It may seem like an odd way to begin a story-somewhere in the middle, with a field cracked open like a shell, and a letter to a singular person that is nothing significant in particular-but Gilbert figured that it was as good a place as any.

It hadn't rained in days. The fields around him looked cracked and grey. Lifeless, just like everything else around him. But Gilbert had many things to be thankful for on a dry day like this. For one, he was not soaked through, like he had been nearly the entirety of the war. For another, though the day was prached, the weather was still mild. Spring time in Italy was lovely.

Most importantly, though, it was this day that Gilbert received his mail. Despite the seemingly anti-climactic nature of this normal occurance, every letter meant the world to him. He soaked up the words off the page, revelling in the knowledge that Roderich Héderváry (Edelstein, Gilbert corrected mentally) was alive and well. His heart soared knowing that Elizabeth, Roderich's wife, was safe from harm. It almost made up for the fact that Gilbert had absolutely no idea where he was.

"Damn Italian towns... can't even put up proper road signs..." He grumbled to himself as he walked along, searching for anything that might mark where int he world he was. He was certain if he kept walking like this, he'd end up in Austria in no time. "I thought this was supposed to be a big town. Where the hell are the buildings? This isn't a town-it's the middle of freakin' nowhere!" He growled out in frustration, trying to focus on the map in his hands.

The thing about not watching where you're going is that you tend to run into things. Trees, poles... people. Years later, Gilbert would look back on this moment and swear it was fate that he ran right into Feliciano Vargas on the road to Nowhere. At the moment, though, all he did was swear and back up, "Whoa, are you okay, kid?" He blinked away the confusion of the sudden impact slowly.

In front of him was a pretty Italian boy with wide brown eyes that almost looked gold in the sunlight. He was rubbing at his head when he looked up to meet Gilbert's eyes, and in that moment, the self-proclaimed Prussian swore he'd fallen in love (He was very wrong.). "Oh, I- hey, I'm sorry about that! I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm a little lost... I thought there was supposed to be a town around here, somewhere." He babbled, trying to regain himself.

Feliciano's smile was like a flower blooming-slow, and sweet and very easy to lose yourself staring at it. The Italian beamed up at him, shrugging off Gilbert's words with ease, "It's no problem, sir!"-And, okay, Gilbert still wasn't used to being addressed as 'sir', soldier of not-"The town is actually right over that hill! It's pretty big, and easy to get lost in- I got lost there a lot when i was little! You're a German soldier, aren't you? Everyone says you're here to make things better! I don't know if anything is better yet. Grandpa says it's not, but I think he just doesn't like that all you soldiers are as big as he is!" The boy prattled on for a bit, and Gilbert struggled to keep up. Sweet as he seemed, this Italian was confusing as hell.

"Ja, I'm a German soldier." Gilbert responded when he got an opening, "And... we're trying to keep the peace. The Resistance in this area is causing problems, and we're looking into it." He looked away. Gilbert was the first to admit he didn't agree with what they were fighting for, let alone having to apprehend people who openly disagreed with the way things were working out for the world.

"My grandpa likes the Resistance." The Italian shot back. Gilbert watched his eyes widen as he covered his mouth, "Oh no! That won't get him in trouble, will it?" The solider softened and shook his head.

"Nein. So long as he keeps those opinions to himself, and he isn't aiding the Resistance, you'll all be fine." He would definitely see to that. As they reached the bottom of the hill, Gilbert refocused on the town bustling in front of them. It was almsot as tthough it had appeared from nowhere. Surely a single hill hadn't been able to conceal all of this? The solider looked around, noting that the majority of the bustle was at the food markets and restaurants, just as he'd been informed it would be. Feliciano's voice drew him back from his own thoughts before he could get an idea of where to go first.

"If you are hungry, you can come back to my house for some lunch!" The Italian offered brightly, a gracious smile on his lips. Gilbert's heart ached at the innocence in that expression. Beautiful things didn't deserve to endure such things as war, but yet they remained, as though there was no war going on at all.

"I'm not sure how well your grandfather would take you inviting me to your house, with me being a solider and all. Besides, you don't even known my name, kid." Gilbert gave him an easy smile, feeling himself wince when Feliciano's face fell for a moment. It didn't take long for the boy to brighten back up, however.

"My grandpa is working right now! He works in a restaurant in town, so he wouldn't have to know. You seem so nice, please come over!" It took Feliciano a minute to remember he still hadn't introduced himself before he stuck out his hand and chriped, "I'm Feliciano Vargas."

Gilbert shook the Italian's hand gingerly, certain he'd crush it in his much larger, rougher one. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." He answered back, only taking a few seconds before caving under the weight of Feliciano's hopeful stare, "Alright Feliciano Vargas. You have a deal. We'll have lunch at your house." Feliciano looked overjoyed, diving right into a detailed chattering about his town and his house no less confusing than his last rambles.

As they walked towards the Vargas house, Gilbert couldn't help but think that he had a lot to be thankful for that day. Nice weather, good news in the form of a letter, clear air, and the promise of a warm meal.


	2. Sweet Home

"What do you want to drink?" Gilbert watched as Feliciano dashed around the kitchen, first here, then there. The house was warm, but open, and there was a sweetness here that left the soldier feeling wholly intoxicated. It was this feeling of intense comfort that made Gilbert certain he'd made a mistake in coming here because he knew, in that moment, he would be back.

"Oh, anything is fine." He didn't even have to try for nonchalance as he relaxed at Feliciano's dining room table, hand resting on his head, propped up by his elbow on the hard surface. "Are you sure I can't help you with anything?" And they talked like this for some time - easy pleasantries, and polite conversation. It was so easy to feel at home here, and it struck Gilbert that this was the first time he'd felt at home since he was young. (This was a nearly meaningless statement, given the youth that the man still possessed, not nearly old enough to be thinking the way he was.)

After the meal, their chatter died away to the comfortable silence that comes from eating your fill of good pasta. Gilbert was just rising to leave when the door slammed open, and the Prussian stiffened, bracing himself for the inevitable appearance of Feliciano's grandfather. He couldn't have been more surprised when a face identical to the Italian's met his eyes. Despite the obviousness of his relation to Feliciano (twins, clearly, Gilbert's mind supplied), the soldier had already picked out the differences in the two boys. Where Feliciano's demeanor was sweet and honest and pure, this boy seemed angry and rigid and positively volatile.

"Who the f-" The look-alike began, only cut off by Feliciano's urgent reminder of ettiquette ("Language, Fratello!"), "Who the hell are you?" He spit out instead. expression souring even more, if possible. Gilbert blinked and opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off, "Why the hell would you invite a German solider to or house Feli? What are you thinking? That's dangerous!"

Gilbert stepped in here, standing with his palms forward in a gesture of peace, "Hey, hey. I'm not here to hurt anyone. Your brother was just giving me some lunch. He showed me to the town." Lovino shot Feliciano an angry look, and the sweet-natured boy had the conscience to look down guiltily.

"Get out of my house! You are not welcome here!" The boy - Lovino - reminded Gilbert a little of his puppies back home, when they'd growl at visitors and yap at them in an attempt to intimidate. It only made them look cuter. The soldier fought down a smile, and shrugged, arms still up.

"I'm going, I'm going, freund. I need to get back to base anyway." And he left. Now, it may seem anti-climactic. Nothing of any interest has happened, right? That's what Gilbert thought as he left the house, trying to dismiss his thoughts of the pretty Italian boy (Two. There were two pretty Italians, his mind reminded him.) and the warm house with the sweet air.

When fate has other ideas, she has a way of making those memories float in your mind, just out of reach until they circle back to the forefront at the worst of times - which is how Gilbert found himself here, he supposed, when he looked back on all this later. In the middle of town, watching a fellow soldier put his gun to someone's head. This person wasn't anyone of interest to Gilbert. He wasn't someone that Gilbert cared for, or someone that the soldier had even seen before.

But despite this, despite everything, Gilbert found himself stepping forward, between the two parties, much to the surprise of the crowd gathered around them. All he could see was Feliciano and Lovino; all he could smell was the sweetness of that house, easy in the back of his throat. Gilbert easily took control of the situation, reversing the escalation it had taken to get to this point - a petty disagreement between a citizen and the other soldier. It didn't take long for his ally to walk away from the situation, much to Gilbert's relief.

He thought he must be imagining it was he saw Feliciano's startled face in the crowd of onlookers, now dispersing, but when he blinked, he realized that it was really him. He hadn't seen either of the twins since that day when Lovino had blown up on him in the Vargas household. The soldier gravitated towards the boy, stopping just in front of him.

"Feliciano?" The startled expression on the Italian's face slid into a look of contempt. Not Feliciano. Gilbert became aware just then of how identical the twins really were.

"Hell no! I'm Lovino!" He mumbled another string of choice words under his breath, looking sour before he grudgingly looked back at Gilbert, "Thank you. Bastard. For saving him." And with that, the Italian turned on heel and left Gilbert standing there, feeling (and probably looking) astounded.

He wasn't sure why he felt the intense desire to follow after the boy, but Gilbert found himself running after him anyway, a wry smile on his lips.


End file.
